


Fuzz Therapy

by bearfeathers



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Dogs, Fix-It, M/M, Pets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearfeathers/pseuds/bearfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roger Caras once said, “Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole.” Following the incident with Loki, Steve discovers that, for Phil Coulson, there's a great deal of truth to those words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Watch Dogs

**Author's Note:**

> This past weekend I lost my dog of thirteen years. He was my first and only dog, who we got as a puppy when I was about eleven years-old. He was a wonderful dog and did more for me than most people ever have. I've been having a very hard time dealing with losing him, so I decided to do something to help myself. And that's where this fic comes in; it's a bit of a way for me to remind myself of all the good memories of him I've accumulated over the years, instead of focusing on his passing.
> 
> So yes, I've written this for very selfish reasons. But hopefully it turns out alright all the same.

Most people believe that Steve was the first one to sit at Phil’s bedside.

Most people would be wrong.

* * *

Steve is surprised to find that Phil Coulson is not, in fact, as dead as they’ve been lead to believe. He expects the room to be empty when they arrive, but as they stand crowded in the doorway, he finds himself surprised yet again. As they watch from just inside the room, the agent lies motionless in the bed before them but he is far from alone. A great, black dog lies curled at the end of the bed, watching them all with an intensity that gives them pause.

“Bucky!”

The exclamation had come from Pepper, who suddenly weaves through them and makes a beeline for the bed. Steve stares as the dog’s tail wags and his ears flatten to his head as the woman nears. The hound lifts his graying muzzle and allows Pepper to pet him, clearly familiar with her.

“Bucky?” Steve echoes questioningly.

“Coulson’s dog,” Natasha says at his elbow before she and Clint edge past him and into the room.

From there, the rest of them follow.

“Hey ho, Buckaroo,” Clint says, raising a hand in greeting as Steve settles in one of the open seats and Pepper shifts her attention to the agent. “Been keeping watch for us?”

Bucky rests his head on Phil’s leg, watching Clint. Apparently that’s a yes. The team fills in the spaces around the bed, watching the man lying in it as though at any moment he might awake. In reality, it’s a question of whether or not he’ll wake up at all. There’s some sort of conversation going on around him, but Steve's focus is centered on the steady rise and fall of Phil’s chest. Until he begins to feel like he’s being watched. When he lifts his gaze, he finds warm, chocolate eyes trained on him. He offers the dog a smile. He gets a tail wag in return. It’s Steve’s first meeting with Bucky the German Shepherd, but unbeknownst to him, it’s far from his last.

* * *

Steve returns day after day, always to the same sight; Phil comatose in his bed and Bucky curled at his master’s feet, ever vigilant. Sometimes one of the others is already there, sometimes they show up after he’s been sitting for some time. But there are times when he and Bucky are alone.

There is a dog bed in the corner of the clean, white hospital room, but Steve’s sure he’s never seen Bucky in it. The food and water bowl are always full and, for a time, he wonders if perhaps the dog isn’t eating. That fear is dispelled when, two weeks after Steve’s daily visits have begun, he enters the room to the sight of Jasper Sitwell shaking an enormous bag of kibble over the empty bowl.

“I was starting to wonder if he wasn’t eating,” Steve says by way of greeting.

“The day Bucky passes up a full bowl of food is the day he’s on his way out,” Jasper proclaims with some amusement as he props the unwieldy bag of dog food against the wall.

Steve can’t exactly disagree, what with the way the dog hops off the bed and trots over to his bowl, inhaling the offering at inhuman speeds. His ID tag clinks against his collar, catching both the sunlight filtering in through the windows as well as Steve’s eye. The tag has a name and address on one side, but on the other it bears the unmistakable S.H.I.E.L.D. logo. He’s curious if it’s merely due to the fact that his owner is an agent or if there’s more to be told on that subject, but decides it’s a conversation for another time.

The bowl doesn’t stay full very long and once Bucky has overseen its refilling, he returns to the hospital bed and curls himself up at Phil’s side. His eyes track Jasper’s movements as the agent takes a seat beside Steve with a heavy sigh.

“So according to Director Fury,” Jasper begins, removing his glasses, “you’ve been here every day.”

Steve’s fingers trace the rim of his shield, which lies propped against his chair. “I feel I owe it to him.”

Jasper makes a noncommittal noise as he begins cleaning the lenses.

“Something you’d like to say?” Steve says, his tone defensive.

“He’ll be pissed when he finds out, that’s all,” Jasper says with a shrug. “Flattered. But pissed. Apparently sitting at someone's bedside is a monumental waste of time unless he's the one doing it.”

Steve relaxes into his seat somewhat. “So you think he’ll wake up, then.”

“I don’t know,” Jasper admits, replacing his glasses once he’s finished cleaning them. “I’m not a doctor. I can’t say one way or another if he’s getting better or worse. I don’t know whether or not someone’s will can be enough to bring them back from where he is right now, but if he has any say in it, then he’ll come back. He's a tough bastard, without question, and a complete and utter hardass when he feels like it, but I'm not sure if that counts for much here. ”

Steve nods slowly at that. It’s not the rallying answer he’d been hoping for, but he supposes he’d rather not be showered with hollow promises anyway. He tips his head towards Bucky.

“Well, I’m not the only one here every day,” he points out.

“Bucky?” Jasper says with a slight grin. “You’d have to pry him off with a crowbar.”

“About the name…”

“Probably a little awkward for you, yeah,” Jasper says with a shrug “But it’s not like we ever expected to find you and thaw you out. He probably wouldn’t have named him that otherwise.”

“It’s not such a bad thing,” Steve says. “He’s loyal. Diligent. It’s fitting.”

He doesn’t mention that the dog’s crooked ear reminds him of the jaunty angle at which Bucky used to wear the hat to his service uniform. He knows he’s just finding similarities because of the name and he can’t quite decide if he’s okay with that.

For his part, Bucky doesn’t seem bothered by the conversation. He’s shifted from watching Steve and Jasper to watching Phil. The dog’s head rests in the agent’s lap and if he’s grown frustrated by his master’s lack of response, he doesn’t show it. The dog merely continues to sit patiently, watching Phil through soft brown eyes rimmed with graying fur. Bucky is an old dog; that much is plain to see, but apart from the gray fur, Steve can’t say there’s much to give that away.

After some time, Jasper announces his intent to leave and takes Bucky out to use the bathroom before he does so. The dog seems perfectly capable of finding his way back to the room on his own, because when he returns it’s without any sign of the agent. But rather than resume his place upon Phil’s bed, Bucky decides it’s time to get to know the man who’s been sharing his watch duties every day. He starts by sniffing Steve’s shield.

For his part, Steve can’t stop himself from grinning as the dog’s nose twitches animatedly. Bucky’s sniffing eventually travels to Steve’s fingertips and up his hand. He chuckles at the feeling of a wet nose and soft puffs of air tickling his knuckles. Leaning forward in his seat, he holds his hand out further and, once he’s certain Bucky is comfortable enough, reaches out to pet him.

Bucky tilts his head up, flattening his ears and licking his chops as Steve carefully runs a hand over the top of his head.

“You’re pretty sure he’ll wake up, though, aren’t you?” Steve asks softly.

Bucky’s response is to lay his head on Steve’s thigh, his eyes gazing up at the soldier thoughtfully.

“Well, I hope you’re right,” Steve says. “I really do.”

He sputters when the dog surges up, catching him off guard with a quick, slobbery kiss. He’s wiping his face on the back of his hand when Bucky resumes his place at Phil’s side, his mouth open and his tongue lolling out in such a fashion that Steve swears he’s being grinned at.

“You’re welcome,” Steve says.

Content with that response, Bucky resumes his watch, as does Steve along with him. Loyal and diligent were the dog’s two qualities that Steve had mentioned to Jasper, but now it seems he’ll have to add another: sassy.


	2. A-OK

A month comes and goes both too quickly and too slowly for Steve’s liking. Each day begins as another day that Phil might wake up, and ends as another day that he doesn’t. Steve tries to remain hopeful, optimistic that they just have to be patient, but he feels himself growing more despondent each time he leaves the hospital room for the night.

Bucky, however, doesn’t seem very bothered at all. Steve watches the great, black hound lie patiently at his master’s side, betraying not even the barest hint of doubt. But then, Bucky _is_ a dog, so perhaps he’s reading too much into it.

“He’ll wake up,” Clint says from his seat on the windowsill.

Steve looks up from his sandwich. “What makes you so sure?”

Clint tears off a bit of his burger and tosses it towards Bucky, who snaps it out of the air with a flash of teeth and swallows it whole.

“Because Bucky said so,” Clint informs him.

Steve raises his eyebrows critically. “The dog’s been speaking to you?”

Clint scoffs. “Do I look like the Son of Sam to you?”

Steve’s eyebrows rise, if possible, even further. “I don’t know, do you?”

Clint clucks his tongue and cocks his head. “Right. Guess you’re not the guy to ask. Anyway… If we had anything to worry about, Bucky would know.”

“People keep saying that,” Steve says, shaking his head. “But the doctors say they’re not sure. He could just stay like this. I don’t see how a dog can possibly know something that the doctors don’t.”

Clint shrugs, ducking his head and fiddling with his burger wrapper. The archer looks tired, beyond tired. His exhaustion is nearly palpable, rolling off him in waves as he picks at the wrapper in his hands. It’s no wonder, really, considering what he’s been through. Steve knows that Clint is currently on medical leave from his S.H.I.E.L.D. duties and is seeing a therapist daily. He knows that Clint doesn’t like it, but is going along with it anyway. He knows that Clint feels guilty for a lot of things, including the state of the man in the bed between them. What he doesn’t know is whether or not Clint is okay.

“Kinda hard to explain,” Clint says, shifting in his seat. “I just know that as long as Bucky’s not giving up, then I’m not either.”

Steve accepts that as a valid answer, seeing that Clint no longer wishes to discuss the matter. Although, really, he wishes he would.

* * *

Clint is a frequent visitor and whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing is hard to say. Steve notices very early on that the marksman is very careful not to sit too near his handler; typically he gives himself a perimeter of five to ten feet to work with. He claims it’s because he sees better at a distance, but Steve’s not so sure that’s the reason.

It’s why he doesn’t mention it when he nearly walks in on the man kneeling at Phil’s bedside. Steve steps back from the closed door, but watches cautiously through the windowpane. Clint has his arms locked around Bucky, his face buried in the trim, black fur around the dog’s neck. It’s easy to see by the set of his shoulders that Clint is taking slow, deep breaths as he clings to the dog like a lifeline.

Bucky just rests his head on Clint’s shoulder, his eyes closed as the archer kneels motionless beside the bed. The dog doesn’t seem fussed in any way, nor put out by Clint’s strong embrace. Perhaps it’s a funny thing to think of a dog, but Bucky seems to bear it all with a strange air of quiet dignity; like this is what he’s meant to do. Watching over Phil is Bucky’s primary concern, but apparently making sure anyone near Phil is alright, too, is tacked onto that.

As Steve backs away and walks down the hall, deciding to return later, he comes to the realization that perhaps what Clint needs most isn’t therapy and time off, but forgiveness from someone who’s never looked at him as though he should be asking for it.

* * *

Steve is in bed when he gets the call.

He’s grown rather familiar with the nursing staff and had asked to be alerted if there were any change when he wasn’t able to be there. If he’d been drowsy when he’d fumbled for the phone, he certainly isn’t after the discovering the reason they’d rang him.

There’s a bit of a mad dash to get his clothes on and get himself down to his bike as quickly as possible. He peels out, racing towards the hospital at a speed that’s not even remotely legal and finds himself hurrying through the halls before his mind has really caught up to his feet. What catches his attention and brings him back into the moment is the sight of the nearly empty hall stretching before him and Bucky standing outside the door to what he knows to be Phil’s room.

The dog is stamping his front paws when he isn’t pacing in frantic circles or scratching at the door, his whine the only thing breaking the silence. It sounds desperate and forlorn and just so _lonely_ that Steve can’t really stop himself from calling out.

“Bucky!”

The name leaves his lips with an echo of familiarity that he doesn’t have time to hold onto when the dog’s head whips up and there is suddenly a black blur upon him. Bucky collides with his waist with nearly enough force to take the wind out of him. He’s on his hind legs, pawing at Steve’s t-shirt as he cries and shakes beneath Steve’s hand. Steve does his best to console the hound, running his hands through dark fur and speaking soothingly, but Bucky is having none of it. He clamps down on the sleeve of Steve’s leather jacket and tugs, urging him towards Phil’s room.

“Okay, okay, let’s go, I’m coming,” Steve assures him.

He finds one of the nurses on duty at the late hour, the very one who’d phoned him. He explains that, yes, Phil had started to wake, but his doctor is seeing to him now and they’ll have to wait to go in. Bucky scratches at the door and looks up at Steve, his chocolate eyes imploring.

“We have to wait,” Steve tells him.

Bucky whines.

Steve heaves a great sigh and slides down the wall until he’s seated on the cool, tile floor. He looks to Bucky and pats his lap.

“Come on. We’ve waited this long, we can wait a little longer,” he says.

Bucky gives the door one last, longing look before he slinks over to Steve. The soldier sputters as the dog sees fit to thank him with another bout of slobbery kisses, licking at his face until Steve is laughing, trying to shove him away. The old dog eventually relents, curling up and resting his head on Steve’s knee, his eyes trained on the door as Steve scratches behind his ears.

“He must like you,” the nurse comments from his station.

“I’m sorry?” Steve says, lifting his head but continuing to pet Bucky.

“Bucky. He hasn’t stopped crying since we removed him from Agent Coulson’s room. Believe me, we all tried, but it looks like you’ve got the magic touch.”

Steve just smiles, lacking any sort of response to that, and looks back to the dog currently taking up the majority of his lap. It really is curious, that Bucky had calmed down for him. The staff at the hospital is pleasant, accommodating and Bucky is certainly familiar with them by now. So exactly what sets Steve apart?

He’s still asking himself that when the doctor emerges from the room and Bucky springs up from his lap and takes off like his tail’s on fire. The doctor quirks an eyebrow and shakes her head as the dog darts by her and disappears into the room. Steve rises also, brushing off his pants and looking to her with questioning eyes. She smiles encouragingly at him.

“Captain Rogers, I hadn’t expected you so soon,” she says, holding out a hand.

He shakes it firmly. “Well, ma’am, I wanted to be sure one of us was with him when he woke up. And to be quite frank, I don’t think I could’ve waited until morning anyhow.”

She nods at that. “I should warn you that he’s not going to be awake very long now. You can go in, but try not to get him too worked up. I should also mention that we’ve removed the ventilator, but he’ll have trouble speaking for up to a week, so bear that in mind.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve answers dutifully before she waves him inside.

As she leaves, he peers cautiously through the open doorway. The room is dimly lit, but he can see Bucky has wasted no time in resuming his post. He’s lying along the length of the bed with his head in Phil’s lap, gazing up into his master’s face. Phil has a hand resting on the dog’s head, his fingers slowly curling and uncurling in a scratching motion.

Steve makes his way over inch by inch and carefully resumes the seat that feels as though it’s been molded to his rear through repeated use. He leans forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped before him.

“Agent Coulson,” he says, addressing the man quietly, the stillness of the room softening his words and relief stealing the authoritative edge from them.

Phil’s gaze is slow to find him and when it does, he can see the agent’s eyes are clouded under heavy medication and impending slumber, but open all the same. Phil stares blearily at him as Steve reaches out, laying his hand atop Phil’s left and squeezing briefly.

“Glad to have you back with us.”

Phil lets his eyes fall shut at that before opening them again. His lips are moving as he blinks rapidly, but no words emerge. Steve can tell he’s doing his best to fend off sleep, but he’s fighting an uphill battle.

“We can talk later. Get some rest for now,” Steve says. “Bucky and I will be here when you wake up.”

He thinks he sees a glimmer of something like gratitude in Phil’s eyes before the agent accepts defeat and allows sleep to claim him. Steve watches for a moment as he draws breaths that are entirely his own, and not those forced into his lungs by a machine. They’re less even, certainly, but watching the rise and fall of the agent’s chest now puts him at ease instead of filling him with worry.

With a thought of his promise that he and Bucky would be there when Phil woke, Steve allows his gaze to slide towards the dog. For what has to be the first time since Steve had begun his watch, Bucky is asleep. With the burden watching over his master lifted for the moment, the dog has drifted off into a well-deserved rest, looking for all the world that the simple contact of Phil’s hand on his head has made it all worthwhile.


	3. Not Your Average Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fury pays a visit and brings some interesting news with him.

Only a few hours have passed before the room sees its next visitor. Steve has doused the fluorescent lights in favor of the early morning sun creeping in through the blinds. It lends a relaxed air to the room, he thinks, which is sorely needed after over a month of worried tension. He’d only slept a short while before rushing to the hospital and though he’s decided he’ll remain awake while Bucky catches up on what he’s sure is a much needed rest, he feels comfortable for the first time in weeks. He feels loose, almost drunk on the relief of knowing that Phil isn’t going to spend the rest of his life in the bed before him, hooked up to machines and kept alive by unnatural means.

A shudder runs through him at the idea; that they could ever keep him here like that for years and years, hidden away in a hospital room like some kind of relic. It’s wrong. It would have been wrong. Keeping him alive just for the sake of keeping him alive would have robbed him of the dignified end he deserved. Steve had really, truly hoped against hope that the agent would awake, but he’d been starting to wonder how much more of it he could take. He’s not certain what Phil’s wishes are in regards to this kind of situation, but some part of him just knows that he would have hated the idea of wasting away in a hospital bed like that. The kinds of men who do what Phil Coulson did aren’t the ones who are willing to let themselves linger like that, like living ghosts.

It’s one of many reasons why Steve sets his shoulders and steels his gaze when Nick Fury enters the room. The director does so silently, slipping into the sunlit room like a shade. Bucky lifts his head, instantly alert once he knows someone has entered Phil’s space. The dog’s tail wags slowly as he looks to Fury expectantly. Bucky seems to be the only one happy to see Fury these days.

None of them had taken being lied to particularly well. Most of them still aren’t feeling up to playing nice with Fury just yet. Over the past month, Steve has come to understand the decision and, in some ways, respect it, but he still resents the lie and the fact that it had kept them from coming to the agent’s aid immediately.

“Director,” Steve greets with a curt nod, remaining seated.

“Captain Rogers,” Fury returns, dipping his head in acknowledgement. He wanders towards the bed, his lone eye focused on his agent. “I’m told he was awake early this morning.”

“The hospital staff called me when he started to regain consciousness. By the time I was allowed entry he was falling asleep, so I really only got about a minute with him before he was out,” Steve explains.

Fury stands on the opposite side of the bed, his shadow stretching across the width of the bed. Bucky noses at the pocket of the man’s coat until Fury rests a hand on his head.

“He say anything?” Fury wants to know.

“Tried to,” Steve answers, folding his arms over his chest and shifting in his seat. “They said he’d probably have trouble speaking for up to a week because of the ventilator. I’m not sure what he might have been trying to say to me.”

Bucky resumes the task of prodding the director’s pocket until he’s swatted on the nose.

“I’ll look into supplying him with a way to communicate in the meantime,” Fury notes.

Bucky’s apparently not one to give up, because he’s back to prodding at the director insistently. Steve is admittedly caught off guard when Fury rolls his eye and reaches into his pocket. He draws out a dog biscuit and tosses it to Bucky, grumbling something about impatience while the dog happily crunches away.

“Once he’s figured out you’ve got food, you won’t see a moment of peace until he’s gotten it,” Fury explained.

“He’s been quiet this past month,” Steve says with a frown.

Fury motions to Phil. “Preoccupied.”

Steve nods and lets the conversation die out there. He doesn’t really feel like carrying on with Fury as though there are no hard feelings. They were all lied to, that hasn’t changed. He’s really not sure exactly what Fury wants; he hadn’t seen the director once during his month-long vigil. But it’s not as though he can argue when Phil begins to stir and Fury pulls a seat up to his bedside. The director is patient, watching quietly as the agent slowly wakes.

Phil’s head is turned in Steve’s direction, so naturally it’s Steve he sees first. There’s a lingering sleepy look about him and Steve is aware that he’s still heavily medicated, but his eyes look clearer now than they did the night prior. When he opens his mouth to say something, however, all that emerges is a thin, raspy noise. Steve sees him wince at that.

“Your doctor said you might have some trouble speaking because of how long the ventilator was in place,” Steve is quick to relate to the agent. “But Director Fury said he’ll come up with a way to help you communicate until you’re able to speak again.”

Phil frowns when Fury is mentioned and only then turns his head. The sight of the director must startle him for some reason, because he makes a sudden motion to sit up. The attempt is aborted immediately and punctuated by a pained gasp that has both Steve and Fury out of their seats in a heartbeat. Phil’s eyes are squeezed shut again as he breathes heavily amidst Fury’s repeated request to take it easy. Bucky watches closely, his tongue darting out to lick at the back of Phil’s hand until the man eventually settles down. Fury resumes his seat, but rather than doing the same, Steve walks around until he’s standing beside the director’s chair. He’d prefer to keep an eye on this conversation.

“I could have saved you the trouble and told you that was a really stupid ass idea if you’d just asked,” Fury says.

Steve sees the corner of Phil’s lips tug upward marginally; a pale imitation of a smile but an attempt nonetheless. Bucky’s tail wags as his eyes rest on the director. The dog doesn’t seem the least put out by Fury’s presence and, if anything, appears happy to see him. Maybe that has to do with the dog biscuit Fury gave him, or maybe Bucky was just never lied to, or maybe Steve’s overthinking because Bucky’s a smart dog but he is a _dog_. Regardless, the great black German Shepherd stretches himself out along the length of the bed, sighing happily when Phil’s hand rests atop his head, and waits for whatever Fury has to say.

“So I’m guessing that by now you’ve probably figured out that you’re not dead,” Fury says. “And I bet you’re wondering just why that is.”

Phil nods at that.

“You were already gone before they took you to medical. They managed to bring you back, but we lost you a few more times along the way regardless,” Fury begins to explain. He pauses, reflectively Steve thinks, before continuing. “Do you remember what brought you to S.H.I.E.L.D. in the first place?”

There’s an unidentifiable look to the agent’s eyes as he nods.

“Would you prefer if I excused Captain Rogers from his post or are you willing to let him listen to what I have to say?” Fury asks next.

It takes Phil longer to respond this time. Bucky can apparently sense the tension that Steve can see, as he lifts his head and noses at Phil’s hand questioningly, as if to ask if the agent is alright. Phil’s eyes flicker to Steve before returning to Fury. He nods again, making a motion with his hand that looks oddly similar to the command given to a dog when you want them to stay. But it’s answer enough.

“Captain, perhaps you’d like to take a seat,” Fury says.

Steve arches an eyebrow at that, curious as to what needs to be said that might require him to be seated. Fury waits patiently as he drags his chair over before launching into his narrative.

“What I’m telling you now is something known only to a scarce handful of people. Very scarce,” Fury explains. “I think it’s safe to say that you’re aware of the fact that after you went down into the ice, there were no shortage of people attempting to find the secret to replicating the effects of Dr. Erskine’s serum. Agent Coulson came to be an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. as a result of one of these attempts.”

Steve looks away from Fury to Phil as the meaning of this hits home. “You were in a super soldier program?”

Phil nods at that, his gaze searching. Steve’s not sure what it is he’s looking for or if he finds it because the next moment his eyes are on Fury and the director has resumed his explanation.

“We were aware of the program’s initiation. It wasn’t until sometime later that we discovered that the military wasn’t funding it; someone else was. Someone who didn’t care what the cost of producing a super soldier was,” Fury says. “When we infiltrated their compound, we discovered that their experiments had been a complete failure. All they’d managed to accomplish was to brutally murder twenty-nine soldiers. Damn near made it an even thirty. In the end, there were more corpses recovered than anything else, but we managed to extract two live ones: one man and one dog.”

“They were testing on animals, too,” Steve says. “Bucky.”

“That’s right,” Fury says. “Now, I will say that the experiment was not the complete failure that it was first thought to be. Both Agent Coulson and Bucky gained certain… we’ll call them ‘modifications.’ The details of which, I will leave up to him to divulge,” Fury says. “What you need to know is that he isn’t like you. But then, in many ways, he still is. What happened on the Helicarrier isn’t entirely explainable.”

The director spreads his hands before him.

“What we know is that when he was stabbed, the Tesseract—which was linked to Loki’s scepter—interacted with Agent Coulson’s modified DNA to jump start some kind of latent healing ability,” Fury tells them. “Much like what kept you alive during your seventy years on ice. However, as I said, what happened isn’t entirely explainable. That interaction was enough to keep you hanging on, agent—by a thread. So far as we can tell, that supposed healing ability worked only long enough to keep you from slipping further down the slope. You’ve been healing at a normal rate following your surgeries and so far as any of our scientists can tell, that’s going to be the end of it. There’s speculation that as you moved further away from having direct contact with the Tesseract’s essence, the more its effect wore off. Precisely why and how it interacted with your DNA are still under debate, but for now we just know that it’s the reason you’re still here with us now.”

Flabbergasted is a good way to describe Steve’s feelings at the moment. The question that had been answered had only raised a thousand more for him. Phil, similarly, looks somewhat stunned by the news. It’s certainly not anywhere near the answer Steve had been expecting. He watches the director reach to the briefcase beside him and extract a pad of paper and a pen, which he rests on the nearby bedside table.

“We’ll see about something a little more high tech, but for now, you’ll be needing these,” he says. He rises from his seat. “And now I have to go sit pretty for the WSC. Which is probably all well and good considering I’d rather not be here when Stark comes parading through the halls like he owns the damn place. You staying put, Cap?”

“Yeah, I’ll be here,” Steve answers reflexively.

“Good. Do me a favor and step outside. I’d like a minute with to speak privately with Agent Coulson,” Fury says.

Steve stays firmly rooted to the spot until Phil catches his attention and signals that it’s okay. Even then, Steve finds himself hesitant to leave, but does so regardless. He’s out in the hall for only five minutes before the director emerges from the room, walking quickly past him without so much as a word. That’s just fine as far as Steve’s concerned.

Heading back into the room, though, he knows a long discussion awaits him. Or at least, a discussion as long as Phil can remain awake, anyway.

They’ve got a lot to discuss, but three things are abundantly clear: 1) Phil Coulson is not your average agent. Not in the slightest. 2) While Steve had earlier had to remind himself that Bucky was just a dog, he finds himself now having to readjust that frame of mind. 3) It’s going to be a very long, long day.


	4. Visiting Hours Don't Apply to Dogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The visiting hours are 9 to 5, but none of them seem to pay that any mind. Least of all Bucky because, really, if you never leave, can you call it visiting?

When Steve re-enters the room, he’s surprised to see Phil’s waiting for him. The bed has been adjusted to prop him in an upright position with Bucky sprawled protectively across his lap. With his right hand, agent holds up the pad of paper Fury had left behind and as Steve resumes his seat, he can read the words written tidy, if shaky, handwriting.

_You were lied to, Captain. I’m sorry._

Steve sighs through his nose and runs a hand through his hair. “It’s not your fault. Fury saw his opportunity and he took it. And call me Steve.”

Phil frowns at that, lays the pad flat and writes something else.

_I may have indirectly given him the go-ahead to take that opportunity._

“You… hang on,” Steve says shaking his head. “How?”

_Something I said before I died(?) about how the Avengers Initiative wouldn’t have worked without something to avenge. Complicated. Will explain when I can speak._

Steve focus, briefly, on the little question mark placed in parenthesis. Phil had written something and crossed it out nearly half a dozen times before settling on that particular phrasing. It occurs to him that Phil had fully expected—and perhaps even embraced—death in that moment and that waking up now must be somewhat rattling. Confusing, at the very least. It also occurs to him that trying to write out long, complex answers is likely not the best thing to be doing after just having woken from a coma.

“Well, we’ll save that discussion for another time,” Steve agrees.

He’s curious when he sees that Phil’s writing again.

_Wanted to apologize. My behavior. In the Quinjet. On the bridge. Not professional._

Steve shouldn’t laugh at that. Shouldn’t, but does. He feels the corners of his lips tugging upward of their own accord and a quick chuckle escaping him before he has time to hold it back. There’s just something terribly amusing about the idea that this man, after narrowly escaping death, would make what he thought to be unprofessional behavior one of his primary concerns.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Steve assures him. “To be honest, it was… nice. Having someone who cared, I mean. But my head was someplace else at the time. If anything, I should be the one apologizing. I wasn’t exactly the hero you were expecting.”

_ Yes, you were. _

Steve looks to Phil questioningly when he sees the emphatic double underline.

_Things were different. Are different. You’re adjusting. That’s not a weakness and it doesn’t make you any less Steve Rogers._

“I think you mean Captain America,” Steve says with a grin.

_No. I mean Steve Rogers. Other people could be Captain America. Other people can’t be you. And they couldn’t be your Captain America because that’s you._

He frowns at the written statement as Phil lifts a hand to scrub at his eyes before resuming writing.

_Ask the nurse to dial back pain meds?_

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? You’re on them for a reason,” Steve reasons.

Phil shakes his head.

_Hard to think. Make me sleep. Don’t like them._

Steve makes a noise of agreement. “Well, I can ask.”

Phil’s eyelids are drooping as he scrawls out a quick _Thank you_. Steve wonders if the agent is ever going to go to sleep willingly, instead of fighting to stay awake until he can’t any longer, as he does now. But then, he supposes that after over a month in a coma, the man probably doesn’t feel very much like spending any more time with his eyes shut. Bucky, on the other hand, seems all for cuddling up for another nap and tries to nudge the notepad out of the way with his nose.

“It’s still early yet and the others will probably be along in the next few hours, so there’s no shame in getting a bit more shut-eye,” Steve prompts. He watches for a moment as Phil steadily begins to nod off, despite his best efforts towards the contrary. “Alright? Don’t fight it. Just get some rest for now, Agent Coulson.”

He’s more than a little surprised when he gets a slowly scrawled response on the paper.

_Call me Phil._

He smiles, gently removing the paper and pen.

“Only if you call me Steve,” he declares. “I asked you first, remember.”

Phil’s eyes are closed, but he gets a small nod in response. Steve pats the agent’s hand.

“Get some sleep, Phil,” he reiterates. Not a moment later, the agent is out like a light. Steve eyes Bucky, who is watching him intently from the bed. “That means you, too, soldier.”

The dog’s tail wags just once, hitting the bed with a dull _fwap_ like some kind of lazy salute, before he quickly joins his master and Steve is left alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Shortly there-after, Steve sends out a text. It’s simple, but fitting: the number of Phil’s hospital room along with the words “Avengers Assemble.” Needless to say, there’s a bit of a commotion when Clint is the first to arrive a half-hour later. The archer slips in through the door, nodding once at Steve before looking to the bed with an eagerness that’s clear to see. Steve knows in an instant that Clint’s aware of what’s going on. Clint may like to present himself as just marksmanship, but Steve sees more and more how the man’s keen eye applies to far more than just hitting a target. Clint’s sharp gaze is on him in a flash.

“Why didn’t you let us know when he first came out of it?” he demands.

“It was less than several hours ago,” Steve says.

“And you didn’t think that’s something the rest of us would like to know?” Clint says, his posture rigid.

Steve holds up his hands peaceably. “Listen, he wasn’t awake very long and when he woke up again, he wore himself out pretty quickly. I thought it might be a good idea to let him rest a bit so that when everyone came by, he’d actually be awake for it. It wasn’t an attempt to keep anything from you or anyone else. Alright?”

He sees Clint relax marginally, but there’s still an air of tension to him. In some ways, it’s understandable; Phil has become something of a hot-button issue among them. Fury’s initial deception still has them all wary, even over a month later, and the slightest hint of withheld information is enough to get any of them fired up.

“Alright,” Clint mumbles.

He looks exhausted, but that’s nothing new. Bucky lifts his head, stretching his neck and flattening his ears as though trying to prompt Clint to draw close enough to pet him. Steve has to commend him on that, because it works like a charm. Clint drops to his knees beside the bed and with a great sigh, presses his face to the spot on the sheets beside the dog. Bucky makes a soft whining noise as he raises a paw and drops it on the archer’s head. It’s a strange sight, to be sure, as Clint remains where he is like a penitent receiving absolution.

Five minutes go by, then ten. Steve begins to worry that something’s wrong and reaches out to lay a hand on Clint’s shoulder, only to have his fingers nipped at by Bucky. He withdraws his hand quickly in surprise. Bucky has never done that before. The hound has always been extremely well behaved and well mannered. But it’s as he’s trying to come up with an answer to why he’d just been nipped at that he discovers Clint is fast asleep.

At once he understands. Clint had fallen asleep and Steve’s hand on his shoulder would have woken him. It’s no secret that Clint is in desperate need of sleep, so if he can get it here, Steve’s loathe to do anything to disturb him. Yet again Steve finds himself surprised by Bucky’s intuitive nature and has to wonder just what kind of ‘modifications’ the dog had been gifted with. He smiles and reaches out to pat Bucky on the head, to show him there are no hard feelings, as Bucky had been watching him with doleful brown eyes. The dog tips his muzzle up and noses at Steve’s hand, his tongue darting out to lick at the soldier’s fingers apologetically.

“It’s okay. My mistake,” Steve whispers, mindful of the two sleeping men between them.

Bucky accepts that with a soft sigh and rests his head on the bed as they resume their wait. It doesn’t last long, as Jasper arrives barely five minutes later. There’s a hurried, harried look about him, but just as he’s opening his mouth to say something, he spies Clint by the bed and shuts his mouth. He points questioningly and Steve mouths the word ‘asleep’ back at him. Jasper merely nods, remaining rooted to the spot.

Seeing the agent appears to be frozen in place, Steve does him a favor and rises from his seat, walking the few paces to the door so that they might have a quiet, whispered conversation that won’t wake anyone up.

“When did he wake up?” Jasper whispers.

“Around one in the morning,” Steve whispers back. “He’s been in and out of consciousness since.”

“Was he lucid?” Jasper wants to know.

“Seemed to be. He complained about the drugs making it hard to think, though,” Steve answers.

Jasper huffs a laugh and scrubs at his face. “He would.”

Steve glances back towards Bucky when Jasper proceeds to stand silently before him with his face pressed into his hand. The dog makes what looks like a ‘go ahead’ motion with his nose, as though to prompt Steve to say something to the agent.

“Alright?” Steve inquires.

“Yeah,” is the gruff reply as Jasper peels his hand away. He clears his throat and takes a deep breath as he runs a hand over his head. “Just… _fuck_.”

The agent looks to him as soon as the curse has left his lips, his expression not unlike a child who’s just cussed in front of their mother. Steve rolls his eyes. Why does everyone tiptoe around him as though the slightest mention of anything even vaguely off color could offend his delicate 1940s sensibilities?

“I hate to break it to you, Agent Sitwell, but your generation didn’t exactly invent the word,” Steve says flatly. “People were fucking before you were even a twinkle in your father’s eye. I _was_ in the military and I can assure you that I’ve heard and said far worse.”

Suddenly it looks like Jasper’s having a very hard time controlling himself.

“Promise me that when Phil’s a little more recovered, we can repeat this exchange word for word,” he says, trying not to laugh. “I want to see the look on his face when his childhood hero says ‘fucking.’”

Steve grins and shakes his head, wondering exactly what kind of impression Phil has of him. It’s as he standing beside Jasper, watching Bucky keep watch over Phil and Clint, that he realizes that for all the time he’s spent waiting for Phil to wake up, he really knows next to nothing about the man. He’s caught snippets and stories from the others, but it’s only constructed a hazy outline for him. Most of the substantial stories have come from Jasper and Pepper—apparently they share the same coping mechanism of relating various personal stories to Steve.

But aside from those stories, Steve really has nothing to go on save for the precious few minutes he’s been around the agent while he was conscious. Now that Phil is awake, though, he’s going to do something about that.

“How was Bucky?” Jasper asks, breaking his thoughts.

“A mess,” Steve says with a soft laugh. “They’d had to remove him from the room. He didn’t take it well.”

“I can imagine,” Jasper answers and Steve _swears_ the dog sticks his tongue out at the agent. But it could just be his imagination. Probably.

“Listen, before anyone else gets here,” Steve begins, folding his arms over his chest, “Director Fury was here.”

“Okay?” Jasper says, his eyebrows raised.

 “Well, we had a bit of a talk. About Phil. And Bucky,” Steve says. “I just wanted to know if you—“

Steve is cut off when the door to the room flies open behind them, revealing the rest of the team looking about as frantic as Jasper had when he’d arrived. It seems like everyone begins talking at once in hurried whispers and, for a moment, Steve’s not certain what to do other than to implore them to be quiet.

“I thought he was awake!” Tony hisses. “What the hell’s going on?”

“He _is_ awake,” Steve whispers back. “Just not now. He woke up earlier and wore himself out again.”

“The ventilator’s gone,” Pepper says. “So he’s just sleeping now?”

“Yeah,” Steve answers, feeling a grin tugging at his lips of its own volition. “Just sleeping.”

“How’d you get Clint to sleep?” Natasha asks, nodding towards the bed.

“That was all him,” Steve relates back. “And maybe a little Bucky. But I’ve tried to leave him be, as uncomfortable as that looks, because any sleep for him is good at this point.”

Natasha nods but doesn’t say much else; she focuses on the bed briefly before joining Bruce, who is busying himself flipping through Phil’s chart. Steve may not be sure what he’s looking at, but the doctor seems pleased with whatever he’s come across, humming thoughtfully at something and pointing it out to Natasha. From his spot on the bed, Bucky gazes up at Bruce with what can only be described as utter adoration. Steve’s certain that Bruce must have owned a dog in the past, because the doctor is always ready with a dog biscuit or a belly rub and seems to scratch the dog’s ears in _just_ the right places. Conversely, Bucky seems to be good for Bruce—the man lets his guard down a little, smiles a little more, and seems generally more at ease when Bucky is around.

Then again, Bucky seems to be good for _everyone_. Now that he thinks about it, despite the depressing atmosphere of the hospital room, he can’t recall any of them leaving it without having smiled or laughed at least once.

“Thor should be here in a few hours,” Tony says, invading his thoughts. “Still working out the kinks with that Earth-to-Asgard extension on the StarkPhone…”

“Oh,” Bruce intones quietly.

The surprised lilt to his voice causes each of them to look his way, only to find that Phil is not only awake, but has apparently been watching them. A strange silence descends on them as none of them make a move, like they’re each frozen to the spot. Suddenly it seems strange that the man they’ve each kept watch over is suddenly awake and—while perhaps not his usual self—very much alive. There’s a groggy half-smile on the agent’s face as he lifts the notebook Fury had left for all of them to see what he’d written.

_So I hear you saved the world._

Bucky watches them all, his tail wagging furiously. It’s only as the dog turns and knocks the notebook out of his master’s hands in an effort to slobber all over his face that the tension eases, a ripple of laughter travels around the room, and Steve’s sure that things are finally, finally headed in the right direction.


	5. Speak!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because you can't talk, doesn't mean you don't have anything to say. Unless you're an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I've been busy. A few days after I posted the last chapter, I wound up adopting a dog. He's a sweet little rat terrier who I named... Bucky. Haha. He's a very good boy and I love him to bits. We're having a great time getting to know each other (and taking naps, naps are great).

Steve is half certain Clint was just trying to block them all out, but now with everyone gathering ‘round and talking animatedly, he can’t exactly remain asleep any longer anyway. He doesn’t seem willing to look up though, until Phil taps him on the top of his head. Steve is surprised to see Phil set the pad and pen aside in favor of making a series of motions with his hands, mouthing words silently in conjunction. Clint sits back on his haunches with a snort and shakes his head, responding in the same manner.

“Sign language?” Bruce prompts with a thoughtful hum.

“Yeah,” Clint says in an offhand manner. “I learned to sign before I learned to talk. Sometimes it’s just easier to… y’know… not say anything. Coulson’s a polyglot so it all works out.”

Phil makes a series of hand motions, then gestures to Clint who looks to the group.

“He asked if I’d translate, since he can sign faster than he can write,” Clint relays. “So if that’s alright by all of you, that’s how we’re going to do it.”

There’s a general murmur of agreement before Phil dips his head and begins signing. Steve can see why the man wished to have the pain medication reduced; already he seems more alert, more dexterous. Clint’s brow pulls into a small frown as he begins to translate.

“[I spoke with Captain Rogers earlier, but I wanted to extend my apology to each of you. You were lied to and I’m told that’s caused a good deal of grief.]”

“I think ‘a good deal of grief’ is putting it lightly, Phil,” Pepper says, her tone soft and sincere. “We thought you’d died. We held a funeral service and put up a headstone and everything. We mourned you.”

Phil looks away at that, his hands busy stroking Bucky’s fur. He has to feel out of his element, Steve thinks. A S.H.I.E.L.D. agent’s job depends heavily on composure, on not betraying a single emotion. He’s learned that in his time awake. To suddenly be removed from that responsibility, to be placed in a situation where Phil isn’t at his best must present an interesting sort of challenge. When he begins signing again it’s with a slow, deliberate movements.

“[I’m sorry. I am. I hadn’t thought—]“

Clint stops speaking as Phil abruptly drops his hands to his lap. He’s frowning deeply in thought and several long seconds tick by before he resumes.

“[It wasn’t supposed to be like this,]” Clint concludes.

“Yeah, well, it _is_ like this,” Tony informs him. “Pepper cried for three hours straight when I told her. Legolas here has developed a case on insomnia for the record books, Thor has been moping around like a kicked puppy any time someone mentions you, and I definitely saw _that guy_ shedding more than one manly tear at your funeral.”

Jasper narrows his eyes when Tony points at him. “I wasn’t crying.”

“You were crying,” Tony responds.

“You were crying,” Natasha adds.

Jasper looks to Phil imploringly. “I wasn’t crying.”

“And to top it all off, Spangles has been carrying around your bloody trading cards for almost two months,” Tony informs him.

Phil stares at him, unmoving, before slowly signing something at Clint, his eyes never leaving Tony.

“[My what?]” Clint translates.

“Your trading cards,” Steve says. “The ones you asked me to sign. Fury said you’d had them on you when you were stabbed.”

“[My trading cards were in my locker,]” Clint says, his eyes going round when he realizes just what Phil’s saying.

Bucky’s ears flatten to his head and he covers his muzzle with one paw. Apparently the dog can understand enough of the conversation to know that Nick Fury is now likely at the top of Phil’s shit list. But Phil just takes a deep breath, sighs it out, and keeps the thoughts to match the murderous gleam to his eyes to himself. Instead, he returns to their conversation as though that fact hadn’t been mentioned to him.

“[Regardless, it’s good to see all of you, especially you Bar—]”

Clint clams up immediately, staring his handler down. Phil signs something at the archer, but Clint refuses to translate verbally and instead signs shakily back. After nearly two minutes of constant signing, Clint makes a motion that clearly means he’s through. Whatever conversation they’d had, it’s gotten to him and that’s plain to see. As he sits back in one of the chairs next to the bed, he has two sets of eyes tracking his movements; both dog and master appear to be equally concerned.

“That’s… a conversation I’d prefer to save for another time,” Clint says, clearing his throat and rolling his shoulders.

An awkward silence descends on them, but lasts only a short while as Tony continues to lead the way on the conversation.

“Oh, and another thing? Don’t be fooled by our bright, smiling faces, because we’re pissed at you,” Tony says.

Phil blinks slowly.

“[For what, exactly?]” Clint translates.

“The fact that you have to ask just makes it worse,” Tony snorts. “Gee, I dunno… For going up against Loki alone? For not waiting for backup? For dying in the first place? I hadn’t pegged you for an idiot, but the evidence speaks for itself.”

It’s almost amusing to see Phil and Bucky curiously tilt their heads in perfect synchronization at Tony’s remarks. He can see the agent is giving the statement some serious thought and yet again he delves into those slow, deliberate movements of his hands which Steve can’t bring himself to look away from.

“[It had to be done,]” Clint says.

They wait for something further, thinking this must be the preamble to a longer answer, but Phil seems content to bury his hands in Bucky’s fur and scratch the dog’s ears. As they all shift and clear throats and wait, Bucky huffs a sigh and turns his head to look at Phil, placing a paw on the agent’s thigh.

“That’s it? ‘It had to be done.’ That’s the best you can come up with?” Tony demands.

Phil gives him a look that’s weary in more ways than one. Steve can’t help but think they must be tiring the man out, but he doesn’t show any signs of being willing to stop any time soon.

“[I could give you any number of reasons why I did what I did, Mr. Stark, none of which would satisfy you or bring me to regret that decision,]” Clint says for Phil. “[And that’s all I’ll say about it for now. I’d much rather hear about what all of you have been up to for the past two months.]”

It occurs to Steve then that while they’ve all been bombarding him with questions, Phil likely has quite a few of his own. For all intents and purposes, the man has been dead to the world for nearly two months. Nothing truly earth-shattering has gone on in that time, but he has a feeling that’s not what Phil’s after anyway. In fact, once they start talking, Phil seems happy to sit and listen to them talk about every little thing that’s happened while he’s gone. The agent will sign something on occasion, but seemingly prefers to let all of them do the talking and occupy his hands with giving Bucky a belly rub.

Eventually Phil begins to wear down and the nurse shoos them all from the room to check his IV and his dressings. He’s fast asleep when they’re allowed back in the room, but Bucky’s wagging tail and inviting eyes tell them they’re more than welcome to stay. So they do.

* * *

It’s near to a week before Steve hears Phil’s voice again. He’s just finished up a meeting with Fury and Hill when he makes his way to the hospital and knocks on the door to the now-familiar hospital room. Jasper, sitting beside the bed, waves him inside. Bucky looks up expectantly at the rustle of the paper bag in his hands and he feels himself grin in response; the old dog knows Steve’s brought him something good to eat. He makes a thoughtful noise when he sees Phil sitting up, awake and alert.

“Surprised?” Phil asks.

His voice isn’t much more than a thin rasp, but he’s talking all the same. Steve shakes his head with a laugh and pulls up a seat.

“I am now,” he says, setting the drink tray he’d been carrying on the table and passing the paper bag to Jasper.

“And he’s spent every waking moment since he’s gotten his voice back trying to convince me to get the nurse to sign his release papers,” the bespectacled agent snorts.

“Been here too long,” Phil says.

“It’s been a week,” Jasper reminds him.

“Two months and a week,” Phil corrects him.

“Remind me again how much of that time you’ve spent conscious?” Jasper hums, unwrapping his sandwich.

Phil gives him a flat look but doesn’t counter-argue. Steve wonders just how long he should sit on the bit of information he has and decides he can wait another minute or two. He reaches into the bottom of the bag and withdraws a clear plastic bag tied off with a ribbon. Bucky perks up when he gets an eyeful of the cookies inside. Steve starts unwrapping the bundle when it occurs to him that perhaps he should ask first. When he looks up, though, he’s surprised to see Phil’s shoulders quivering with silent laughter.

“He hasn’t looked this excited in a while,” Phil explains with a smile.

Bucky’s watching him like a hawk, stock still as he waits for whatever treat Steve has brought him.

“Is it alright? I passed a pet store on the way over and the woman inside said one of their employees makes them herself. I couldn’t pass them up,” Steve admits.

Phil just nods. Steve can’t help but feel the agent is paying close attention to how he and Bucky interact, but for what reasons, he can’t be sure. When he pulls out one of the cookies inside—some sort of strawberry biscuit with peanut butter cream—Bucky’s eyes light up like the Fourth of July. But rather than the ravenous consumption he’s expecting, when he holds the treat out, Bucky takes it gently in his jaws, lies down on the bed and eats the cookie slower than most kids would, if given candy. It almost looks like he’s actually taking the time to taste it.

“That’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen,” Steve remarks, eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline.

“You don’t even know the half of it,” Jasper says, sipping his coffee.

“Has he always been this way?” Steve asks.

“Not always,” Phil says simply.

The agent still wears that same, placid smile but Steve swears there’s something more to it just then. Something like apprehension or sadness, something he can’t quite pin down but knows is there. He believes it must have something to do with the discussion they’d had with Fury, and though Phil had promised to speak with him later on the subject, he doesn’t feel like pressing it just now. There’s plenty of time for it later, regardless of how his curiosity continues to gnaw at him. He passes Bucky another cookie and sits back in his seat.

“So exactly how desperate are you to get out of this hospital room?” Steve asks, picking at his own sandwich.

“I’d be willing to go another round with Loki if it meant getting out of here,” Phil says, clearing his throat and sipping his soup.

“Right, well, thankfully it won’t have to come to that,” Steve says. “You know that I had a meeting earlier today with Director Fury and Deputy Director Hill. What you likely don’t know is that the other Avengers as well as your physician were present. We came to an agreement that you could be released from the hospital today if, and only if, you were to move in to the tower with us and consented to Dr. Banner overseeing your recovery. Your physician was satisfied as to Bruce’s credentials as well as Tony’s ability to accommodate whatever medical equipment may be necessary. All that’s left at this point is to get your decision.”

“And his doctor was okay with this?” Jasper asks suspiciously.

“Under the conditions I just mentioned, yes, she was,” Steve answers. “Although she reserved the right to readmit you if at any time she feels she needs to.”

They both look to Phil, who is frowning deeply. Suddenly Steve is feeling a bit deflated; he’d thought he was delivering good news, but going by Phil’s expression, it seems nearly the opposite.

“It would be highly unprofessional,” he remarks.

“How so?” Steve has to wonder.

“When I’m able, I’ll be returning to work as the S.H.I.E.L.D. liaison to the Avengers. It would be a conflict of interest if I were to live under the same roof as all of you,” Phil explains.

“You could look at it that way. But Clint and Natasha are both S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Your agents, in fact. Technically I’m a part of S.H.I.E.L.D. as well,” Steve reasons.

“Different circumstances,” Phil says, waving a dismissive hand.

Steve takes a deep breath. “Okay. Then look at it this way instead: It’s temporary. As soon as you’ve recovered enough, it’s your choice if you want to leave. In the meantime, Director Fury is completely onboard with this plan. I wouldn’t be discussing it with you now unless I was cleared to. And if that doesn’t convince you, then consider the fact that this arrangement would put a few of us more at ease. It’s easier to keep an eye on you when you’re the next floor up and not across town.”

Steve can tell that Phil still has plenty of reservations but that he’s worn the agent down just enough to get him to agree. Phil shakes his head, like he can’t quite believe what he’s agreeing to, but offers Steve a look that’s equal parts humbled and grateful.

“Any idea what Stark’s policy on pets is?” he asks.

Steve grins.

“I’m sure we can work something out,” he answers.

If the bark accompanying Bucky’s tail wag isn’t approval, then he doesn’t know what is.


	6. Sit! Stay!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve had heard that Phil was stubborn, but he’d never really considered just how stubborn that might be.

Steve had heard that Phil was stubborn, but he’d never really considered just _how_ stubborn that might be.

In the first two weeks since they’d moved the agent in—which had been somewhat awkward considering Tony had moved all of the man’s things from his apartment before he’d even agreed to the arrangement—he had kept fairly to himself. It was something of a conundrum to Steve, who was quite certain he’d never seen someone so determined to keep an eye on all of them while detaching himself as thoroughly as possible.

It seems to him that Phil really is as committed to maintaining a professional distance as he’d said. Though, that’s somewhat difficult considering he’s bed-ridden. Until he isn’t. Unexpectedly.

Steve frowns when his knocks on the agent’s door elicit no response. Usually the man is awake at this time, considering it’s only about noon, but it’s still possible that he could be resting.

“JARVIS,” Steve says as he retreats, “when Agent Coulson wakes up, could you let him know I was by?”

“ _Agent Coulson is not currently sleeping, Captain.”_

Steve frowns, glancing up at the ceiling.

“He isn’t?”

_“No, sir. He’s currently located at the indoor track.”_

“The track,” Steve repeats. That’s the same level as the gym. “Did Bruce bring him down there?”

_“Agent Coulson arrived alone. Sir, if I may say so, I believe he might require some assistance.”_

That’s enough to get Steve moving on the double. He knows that Bruce had been overseeing the agent’s brief ventures out of bed, but Bruce is out of the tower with Tony at present. It gives him an inkling that whatever Phil’s doing is not something their resident physician would approve of.

When he steps onto the track, it’s not difficult to spot the man he’s looking for. He feels a sudden stab of concern when he sees that the agent is on the ground, but as he sprints over he can see that Phil is sitting propped against the wall with Bucky stretched protectively over his legs. Immediately he slows to a jog, taking Bucky’s relaxed posture as evidence that he doesn’t need to worry quite so much as he’d thought. Clint had been right when he’d remarked on the dog’s behavior in the hospital; Steve has come to rely on him as something of an indicator. If anything were truly wrong, Bucky would have let him know.

When he gets close enough, he’s able to guess what’s happened. It’s likely the agent had worn himself out during his little in-house excursion and had stopped to rest, only to fall asleep. Steve shakes his head as he takes a knee and reaches out to stroke Bucky’s muzzle.

“Hey, boy,” he greets quietly.

Bucky nuzzles Steve’s hand, his ears pressed flat against his skull, his eyes lightly shut. The soft words and subtle movement are enough to wake Phil, however. His eyes fly open and he tenses visibly—although that tensions bleeds out of him nearly as quickly once he sees it’s only Steve. The soldier turns a stern gaze on the other man, but continues to pet Bucky.

“I wasn’t aware that Bruce had cleared you leave your room without assistance,” he states.

“He didn’t,” Phil returns easily.

Steve takes a deep breath inward, holds it, then exhales slowly. “Phil, you can’t just walk off without letting us know.”

Phil gives him a long, searching look, like he’s trying to figure Steve out. Or trying to figure his motives out. Phil has approached Steve’s proposed friendship cautiously; Steve can’t really blame him. Sometimes he wonders if he’s trying too hard, pushing forcefully into something that he should allow to happen naturally. It bothers him. It keeps him awake at night, worried that his guilt is a stronger motivator than he claims it is. And he knows Phil wonders the same thing. But it doesn’t stop him from wanting to get closer to the agent all the same.

“Captain—“

“Steve.”

“Steve,” Phil begins. “The fact of the matter is that I don’t take long periods of rest well. I’ve been in a bed for over two months, most of which was spent in a coma. The fact that a short walk around this track was enough to wear me out is something that I’m not comfortable with. Recovery from this wound aside, my muscles have atrophied from disuse due to that coma. The sooner I can start building my strength back up, the better, and it has to start with small things like this. Bucky hasn’t left my side for a moment and JARVIS is on standby should I require assistance. Isn’t that right, JARVIS?”

“ _Ready and waiting, Agent Coulson_ ,” comes the quick reply from above.

Phil nods appreciatively at the answer. Steve’s not sure of it, but the agent and the AI seem to be almost… fond of one another. If that’s even possible.

“I appreciate your concern,” Phil continues, his voice mild. “I appreciate the care each of you has shown me. But it’s important for me to start trying to get back to where I was before this happened.”

Steve can’t exactly argue with that. He knows that, in the same position, he’d likely react in kind. But it doesn’t mean Phil can just up and do what he feels like.

“Regardless, unless Bruce clears it, you’re not wandering off alone,” he declares, giving Bucky an apologetic pat on the head. “I get that you’re restless, but you _have_ to take it easy. Push yourself too far, too quickly and you’ll just end up doing yourself more harm than good.”

Phil looks ready to press the matter further, but purses his lips and simply nods. Steve’s certain that the man probably has several very good counterarguments prepared, but apparently is also blessed with the gift of knowing when to pick his battles. Well… perhaps that’s a bad way to put it, he decides, given the particular battle he’d picked to land him here in the first place. But all the same, Phil gives in and makes it clear that Steve’s made his point.

“Now that that’s settled, why don’t we see about getting you back to your room?” Steve says.

Phil agrees, but doesn’t look happy about it. It occurs to Steve that maybe the reason Phil’s been agreeing with him is for the simple fact that you don’t usually disagree with your childhood hero. The thought bothers him; he doesn’t want Phil to do as he says just because he’d been the one to say it.

“But you’re probably sick of that room by now,” Steve elaborates. He looks to Bucky for inspiration. The dog’s ears pop up and he tilts his head inquisitively. “Will you meet me half-way and let me take you back to your floor, at least? Just to the couch in the living room.”

Phil’s expression shifts at that, into something more comfortable, more at ease.

“Alright,” he says.

When he offers his hand and Phil refuses, he has to bite back a sigh. Instead he rises and places his hands on his hips, watching the agent struggle to a standing position, using the wall as support. He takes a step forward when the man’s expression twists to a pained grimace, his hand pressed to the left side of his chest, but Phil waves Steve off.

“You’re going to fight me every step of the way, aren’t you?” Steve asks.

Phil shoots him a half-smile that does seem genuinely apologetic once he’s fully standing.

“I’m sorry, Captain—“

“ _Steve_ ,” Steve emphasizes for what feels like the hundredth time.

Phil cocks his head at that. “May I ask why it’s so important that I call you ‘Steve’?”

“Let me answer your question with a question: May I ask why it’s so important that you call me ‘Captain’?” Steve asks.

Phil begins walking along with him, his hand remaining pressed to the wall. Steve has to fight the urge to reach out and take his other arm.

“I expressed to you a desire to maintain a professional distance,” Phil says. “I know that you would prefer the opposite.”

Steve looks down, watches Bucky trotting slowly between them. The dog’s ears are laid flat again; apparently he doesn’t like the way this conversation is headed any more than the rest of them.

“You’re wondering if I’m just doing this out of guilt,” Steve says.

“Admittedly, yes, that’s crossed my mind,” Phil informs him. “Just as I know my being a Captain America fan has crossed yours. I think it’s important that we take care not to… cross those lines.”

Steve rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. I don’t know if it helps to say, but I do feel guilty. I’m not going to lie to you and claim that I don’t. It’s a heck of a thing to feel guilty over, Phil. That being said, I wouldn’t have spent all that time waiting for you to wake up out of guilt. That’s not who I am.”

He sees a hint of a smile on Phil’s face, the barest quirk of the lips. “People assume I know you. They don’t believe me when I say comic books and biographies only tell you so much.”

Steve chuckles at that. “Well, to put us on equal footing, secondhand stories can only tell you so much about a guy. I think I heard the one about you taking out two gunmen in a convenience store with a sack of flour at least three times.”

“I see your point,” Phil notes. “I apologize. It must seem strange for me to go from one extreme to the other. I hadn’t intended to give you the cold shoulder.”

Steve shakes his head. “You weren’t. I think we just needed to… clear the air a little.”

“You may be right,” Phil says.

As they step into the lift, the agent leans heavily against the rail, Bucky sitting at his feet and watching him intently. The ride up is silent, but not uncomfortably so. It’s when they reach the intended floor that they run into a problem. Steve steps of the lift and waits for Phil to do the same, but the agent isn’t budging. Bucky whines and gives Steve look that’s nothing short of imploring. The soldier frowns and takes a cautious step towards the other man.

“You alright?” he asks.

“Fine,” Phil says, his eyes squeezed shut. “Just the elevator. Lightheaded.”

“Bruce said that would be normal,” Steve notes. “I think we’d better get—“

He cuts himself off when the agent’s knees buckle and closes the gap between them to stop the man from folding up like a lawn chair right in front of him. It’s an awkward position to say the least, standing with his arms looped under Phil’s and the agent’s face pressed to his chest. For a moment, Steve is still; they’re close enough so that he can feel the way the body in his arms trembles and hear each short, staccato breath. He hardly thinks before shifting one arm away, dipping down to hook it beneath the man’s knees, lifting him easily.

“Don’t,” Phil wheezes, pushing weakly at Steve’s shoulder. He pauses, his closed eyes and slurred speech betraying another dizzy spell. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Steve answers, already walking.

Bucky presses ahead, making a beeline for the living room and standing at the sofa expectantly. Steve catches up quickly and does his best to set the agent down gently. He settles the man in an upright position, tucked against the arm of the sofa. Phil has his eyes shut tight as he tries to regain his breath and though his face is pale, Steve can see two bright spots of pink rising high on his cheeks. It occurs to Steve then that he’s probably embarrassed the other man by carrying him, even if it’d been done with the best of intentions.

“I’m going to get you a glass of water, alright?” he says, not waiting for an answer before heading towards the kitchen.

 

He takes his time finding a glass and filling it, thinking that perhaps a moment alone may help Phil recover quicker. It’s strange. The agent had seemed almost _alarmed_ by Steve so much as touching him. It hadn’t been that way in the hospital… had it? Still pondering that idea, he walks back into the living room and eases himself into a seat at the other end of the sofa. Cautiously, he holds the glass of water out and smiles reassuringly as the agent murmurs his thanks and accepts it.

Phil sips at the water periodically, preferring to keep his eyes shut. Bucky’s head rests on his master’s thigh, his gaze flickering between the agent and the soldier as though to inquire what either of them intend to do about the prolonged silence.

“I suppose you’re going to turn me in to Dr. Banner when he returns,” Phil says, clearing his throat.

“I’m afraid so,” Steve replies.

Phil nods and the silence returns. After a few minutes, Steve wonders if perhaps he’s better off leaving well enough alone, but his thoughts are interrupted by a loud moan. Bucky, head still resting on Phil’s knee, is staring at him. The dog huffs and moans again and yowls until Phil flicks his nose.

“Bucky, enough,” Phil says, his tone clearly displeased.

Bucky snorts, pawing at his master’s other knee, groaning. He looks to Steve again before butting Phil’s knee with his head.

“Bucky, please,” Phil tries again, sighing. “Go. If you’re not going to behave, go lie down.”

Bucky steps back and stamps his paws, unwilling to back down.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this,” Steve says. “Aside from the night the nurses kicked him out of your room. He was pretty agitated then.”

“He’s usually very well behaved and he _knows better_ ,” Phil says, placing emphasis on the last two words which are clearly directed at the dog.

“I just wish I knew what he’s trying to tell us,” Steve says.

“Well, he doesn’t need food or water. He doesn’t need to go out. He knows how to tell people he needs those things,” Phil relates back. “He doesn’t want to play…”

Steve watches Bucky as the dog watches them. It occurs to him suddenly that while they’ve been talking, Bucky has been silent. He holds up a hand to silence Phil. The agent quirks a curious eyebrow but plays along. After only twenty seconds of silence, Bucky starts up his yowling again.

“You think he wants us to talk,” Phil guesses, shaking his head as Bucky falls silent again.

“It seems like it,” Steve says.

“Is that what you want?” Phil asks the dog.

Bucky responds with an eager tail wag.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Steve is quick to say.

“Well, as it turns out, I still owe you an explanation, don’t I?” Phil asks.

Steve doesn’t have to ask to know what the agent is referring to. The topic hasn’t left his thoughts since Fury had introduced it. His mind has been buzzing with unanswered questions about Phil and Bucky, about the program they were in, about the ‘modifications’ that came as a result of that program and a score of other inquiries. But respect for the other man’s personal space and right to privacy have kept him silent.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Steve says. “But I would like to hear it what you have to say, someday.”

Phil looks to Bucky and back to Steve. “We don’t exactly have anywhere to be. And it appears we’re being held hostage.”

Steve huffs a laugh, but doesn’t correct or halt the agent. He sits back, gives the man his space and waits. He doesn’t have to wait too long before Phil launches into his narrative. His voice is slow and mild, as ever, but the dip in volume tells Steve that the information he’s being given is deeply personal in nature and few people have been where he is now.

He learns that Phil had been a soldier before he was an agent. He’d been selected for the program and had volunteered, entirely willingly, young and eager. He and his best friend both. The process, over the course of six months, had killed all its volunteers—during which time their voluntary involvement had changed to something anything but—save for Phil. The program hadn’t created a super soldier, but Phil had still been held against his will, near death and continuing to be experimented on regardless. Until S.H.I.E.L.D. came for him and for Bucky.

Recovery had taken months, during which time he and Bucky had grown inseparable and during which time it had been discovered that the program had not been a complete failure.

“You can’t forget anything?” Steve echoes.

“No. I can’t,” Phil answers. “Instead of affecting my body, the treatment had, somehow, affected my mind.”

“How do you…?”

Steve’s sentence cuts off and he makes a vague motion with his hand.

“How do I keep it all up here?” Phil says, finishing Steve’s sentence and tapping his fingers to his temple. “It took some getting used to. A great deal of trial and error. I had to train myself how to… file things away, I suppose you could say. In the beginning I was overloaded by sensory input. I couldn’t put a filter on it. But it’s been under control since then, with a few notable exceptions. As for Bucky, well, I would say he’s closer to their vision of you than I ever was.”

“How so?” Steve asks.

“He possesses the same accelerated healing ability as you do, as well as increased physical strength and decelerated aging, though not to the same extent as you,” Phil explains. “And like me, he has enhanced mental capabilities.”

“The same memory?” Steve questions, confused.

“No. Enhanced intelligence. He’s basically a human in a dog’s body in that regard,” Phil says. “He scored a 111 on his IQ test.”

Steve can’t even begin to guess how they administered an IQ test to a dog, but it certainly does a good job of explaining some things. His feelings that the dog knew more than a dog should suddenly don’t feel so silly. Not to mention Bucky’s unusually vibrant personality. But the more he thinks about it, the more it seems cruel.

“Isn’t that hard for him?” Steve wants to know. “Smarter than any dog, but still a dog.”

“Sometimes,” Phil answers in Bucky’s steed. “He’s learned to live with the changes. We learned together and I think that’s what made it bearable enough to keep going when it was hardest.”

Steve leans forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. Guilt settles in the longer he thinks about it, the longer he considers the fact that, had the experiment on him not been successful, this likely would have never happened.

“I can’t speak for Bucky, but I know I chose to participate in that program on my own. I was young and foolish, but the decision was my own,” Phil says. “Yes, you inspired me. I wanted to be like you, to do good, as you did. But I didn’t volunteer because of you. You can’t go blaming yourself.”

“Well… I’ll work on it,” Steve answers, trying for a smile. “And in the meantime, you look fit to pass out any second here.”

“I’m fine,” Phil says, settling further in his seat. “I’ll just… close my eyes. For a minute.”

Steve gives it a minute before he hears gentle snoring. Bucky takes that as his cue, hopping up on the couch and curling up between agent and soldier, and resting his head on Steve’s thigh. The dog is quick to follow in his master’s footsteps, falling asleep on top of Steve.

Looking down the length of the sofa, Steve deduces that he’s not going anywhere until Bruce returns. But to be honest, it doesn’t really bother him much.


End file.
